


A Form of Worship

by Aleois



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Prideshipping, just two boys trying their hardest to figure out how life works, kinda nsfw, post dsod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleois/pseuds/Aleois
Summary: “I’ve been dead longer than I’ve been alive. What if I’ve forgotten how to live? What if I don’t know how to be a person anymore?”





	A Form of Worship

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble born from fluffy discord talks with [rei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaRei/pseuds/MamaRei) . Listened to a lot of Oh Wonder while writing this, especially [Technicolor Beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9FfYWp_d5w).
> 
> I don't yet have a ygo beta reader, so this ficlet is unbeta'd.

“I’ve been dead longer than I’ve been alive. What if I’ve forgotten how to live? What if I don’t know how to be a person anymore?”

The words were whispered, soft and quiet, as if admitting them out loud had been admitting a weakness, handing over ammunition to destroy Atem with. The once proud Pharaoh looked small, hunched in on himself, making his form even smaller than normal. His hands were clenched at his sides in fists so tight his knuckles were white, and even though his head was bowed, Seto could see the slight shaking in his shoulders than gave away his tears.

At first, he was at a loss for words. The admission had caught him off guard, and he struggled to find a way to respond. But the longer they went in silence, the smaller Atem’s form seemed to become. 

“Come with me,” he said finally, holding out a hand to the man in front of him. Atem, mentally exhausted but too curious by the glimmer in Seto’s eyes and the smile on his lips to refuse, accepted the offered hand without a word.

He followed the grinning man, a gentle but iron grip on his hand, to the giant glass doors in the kitchen. It was storming outside, the rain falling so hard it reminded Atem of the hoofbeats of a hundred horses, all stampeding in the same direction. Seto paused in front of the doors for only a moment before sliding them open to lead Atem out and into the pouring rain.

Although he’d had a corporeal form in Aaru, it was different from this. There had always been a strange sort of...disconnect between him and the world, much like when he had still been a part of Yugi and had to borrow his body. He could feel and taste and smell everything, but it was as if a layer of fog separated him from the full effects of each sense. This hadn’t bothered him at all in Aaru, the thought of it having never even crossed his mind, but now? Being here, feeling the rain fall hard on his face and trace lines down his chin to fall against his collarbone and soak in his clothes? He brought his hands up, looking down to stare at the bones of each finger as droplets of rain ran between the tendons. He could feel every drop, every cold sliver of water. His clothes were weighed down with it, a weight he had no recollection of ever feeling before. It was...odd. Terrifying.

Exhilarating.

He was real now, more real than he had been in over 3000 years. The wind was cold, whipping his hair across his head and blowing his bangs around his face until the rain plastered them to his skin. His arms shook slightly with the cold, skin bare and prickling with goose flesh. He had spent so long as a ghost, he had forgotten what it was like to feel.

He stood there in the pouring rain, head upturned towards the sky, hair and clothes sticking to his skin, the biggest smile he’d ever worn on his face. He was drenched and freezing, shaking with cold, but when Seto turns a questioning look his way, his bright, triumphant smile speaks for itself. 

Seto smiles back, a smaller, more muted version of the one Atem wears, but it contains just as much emotion, if not more. Hands grabs at his clothes, pulling him further into the storm, and he follows, chasing after the bell like laugh of his lover as he dances away from him

_It’s okay if you don’t remember how to live._

_We can learn together._

 

They eventually make it back inside, discarded clothing soaked with rainwater leaving a wet trail to Seto’s room. 

“How are you feeling?” Seto’s eyes are gentle, his voice soft.

Atem doesn’t respond, unable to form words as he meets Seto’s gaze with one of his own. He’s tired, exhausted, but not quite ready to go to bed yet. Not when the moonlight spilling in through the window is casting such lovely shadows across his languid form. For a moment he wonders if he’s in a dream, if all this will disappear when he blinks. The absence of light in the dark room drains the color from Seto, and he looks black and white, a sketch in charcoal, pale watercolor bleeding ink from his shadowed lines. The light from the moon catches in his collarbone when he moves and spills down his ribcage in a trail of liquid gold trapped in monochrome, and Atem’s fingers itch to reach out, to trace the drops of moonlight where they disappear into the shadows of his chest, to chase the stardust on his skin with a kiss.

But he curbs his desire, swallows back the need growing inside him and shrugs. “Cold,” he answers, and a soft chuckle spills from Seto’s lips like liquid moonlight, and this time Atem can’t stop himself from reaching out, from tracing fingers still damp from the rain across the other man’s chest. The skin trembles beneath his fingertips, but he can’t tell if it’s from the chill or something else. A pale hand reaches up, and for a moment he’s scared Seto will stop him, but he doesn’t. Fingers calloused from years of work brush against his cheek and he turns his head, nose brushing against Seto’s palm as he inhales. He smells of leather and mint, and the faint scent of rain still clings to his skin. They stay that way a moment before the hand moves, tracing its way down his cheek and neck slowly, a hint of hesitation in the movement. 

Atem whispers Seto’s name, the word soft and so quiet he’s unsure if he even spoke, but then Seto’s hand moves again, long fingers twining themselves in the hair at the base of Atem’s skull, and it’s as if the sound of his name spilling from Atem’s lips broke whatever spell he was under. Suddenly he’s pulling Atem to him, frantic lips seeking his, a hint of desperation in the way he wraps his arms around the smaller man, holding him close until there is no space left between them.

Hands slide down his bare chest, fingers tracing every line and dip in the skin, warm against the chill blowing in through open window, reaching down to touch some unseen part deep inside him that radiates with the same kind of warmth. The world outside melts away as Seto’s lips meet his, as his tongue thrusts its way inside his mouth in a way that speaks of promise, of more to come, and a shiver runs down his spine. His muscles twitch and jump at every touch, as if, even after all this time, he still isn’t sure whether he wants to flinch away or melt into the caress. Seto made him  
, made him remember he was alive. 

Atem was used to non-existence, to a half formed consciousness of a world he could never fully be a part of, senses dull and muted and never worth exploring. But here, back pressed against silk sheets gripped tightly between his fingers, the sound of rain and thunder drowning out every little gasp and moan that manages to slip past his lips, a fleeting thought passes through his head. 

“What are you thinking?” Seto’s voice is soft, muffled slightly by the skin was pressing his lips against. 

There is a moment of silence, a split second of hesitation before Atem decides that he needs to tell him, needs to open up to the man knelt between his legs, eyes glinting with concern as he looks up at Atem. “I’m scared,” he admits quietly, the words almost lost against the pounding of the rain against the window.

“Of what?” Seto sits up as he asks, reaching down to wrap his arms around Atem and draw him up beside him. Atem follows him up, adjusts himself so he’s sitting in the other mans lap, burying his head against his chest and letting his fingers trace their way across the scars on his back. Seto allows him this comfort, stays quiet while he waits for Atem to speak. But Atem isn’t sure he _can_ speak, isn’t sure if he can articulate the convoluted mass of emotions that have managed to tangle their way inside his chest. 

It takes several moments of silence before he finally speaks. “What if I disappear again?”

Seto hums thoughtfully at this, the sound echoing through his chest and Atem leans into the sound. “What if...I told you that I am scared, as well?”

“You? Scared? Of what?” Atem asks, incredulous as he leans back to look up at Seto. 

“My entire life has been a state of half life. Am I living, or simply existing? Lately it’s been hard to tell. But with you, I feel everything. You are the only one who can wake me up, fill me with a passion that burns through my insides and scorches my chest. You’re burning down the walls I built so carefully around my heart, tearing it down brick by brick. Even the pain I feel with you brings pleasure. My eyes are stinging and it’s as if I want to cry from this feeling that’s welling inside my heart. It’s a terrifying feeling, to have no control over your emotions like this.” He breaks off, and Atem is rendered speechless by the rare show of emotional honesty. Seto wraps his arms around the man in his lap tightly, pulling his as close as possible and burying his face in his hair. “What are you doing to me?”

And it’s as if a weight has been lifted from Atem’s shoulder, and that poisonous fear that had been carving away at his insides starts to dissipate. He had been so wrapped up in how he felt, in how he was adjusting, that he hadn’t stopped to think about how Seto was holding up. Atem had once been worshiped as a god, raised to believe that he was above all other beings, that he was more powerful and more important than anyone else. He wore crowns of gold and lapels of lapis. Anything he wanted for, he received. Anything he needed was there before he even had to ask. He was a king. A child king, but a king nonetheless. People worshipped him, performed rituals and sacrifices in his honor, in his name. But Seto had never been like that. He had never treated Atem as anything more than his equal, his rival in every way. Atem was just another person to Seto, the same kind of flawed, imperfect being as he was, and yet Atem had not granted him the same right.

With Seto, Atem was finally learning what it meant to be human. Everything between them had been stripped away, their souls laying bared to each other beneath the gentle moonlight. They were both just two scared, lost individuals, searching for the light in a world that seemed to be nothing but darkness. But here, in this bedroom, they are free, hidden away from the rest of the world where they can grow and heal at their own pace. And as Seto’s lips leave a trail of blazing fire on Atem’s skin, he knows that there is nowhere else he wants to be.

He reaches out just as Seto pushes him back down, fingers twining in his hair as he pulls the man down. Their lips meet, soft and gentle at first, as if scared that the weight of their insecurities will break them, will shatter this tender moment they managed to build, but Atem soon grows impatient, and bits down on Seto’s lip. He can feel the other man’s mouth curve into a smirk as the coppery taste of blood trickles onto his tongue.

Each thrust of their bodies moving against each other makes Atem feel as if he is falling, but this time he welcomes the feeling, allows himself to drown in the sensations until he loses all track of where he begins and Seto ends. The rain does little to mask the sounds they make, high keening noises and loud grunts, although Atem couldn’t tell which sounds fell from his own lips and which came from Seto, too lost in the feeling of fingers in his hip bones and teeth on his neck.

Soon they are spent, laying side by side with fingers gently touching and brushing against each other in a rare moment of tenderness. Anything beyond the bedroom door ceases to exist, falling away until it is just them, sweat slicked bodies tangled in silken sheets and calloused fingers brushing against bruised skin.

He may no longer be a pharaoh, no longer wear a crown, no longer be surrounded by hundreds of people whose sole duty was to praise him, but instead of missing it, he feels _free_. For the first time, he feels like everything will be okay. The weight of the world he wore upon his shoulders is gone, eased away by the gentle press of Seto’s lips against his skin, and he comes to another realization.

“Yūgi finished my puzzle, put all the pieces together and brought me back after 3000 years, but there was always something missing.” He reaches out with a slow hand, fingers gently brushing across Seto’s cheeks. “It was you. You were the last piece to my puzzle, and now, here with you, I feel whole, complete, for the first time in centuries.”

If love is a form of worship, then Seto was a god beside him, and this bed was the altar they knelt at.


End file.
